Better Than Worse
by Tijuana Pirate
Summary: It's hard to hate the people you grew up with. A Rude.Tifa story, pre-game to post-FFac.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: This is the first part of my Christmas present to the lovely Sabriel41. She requested a Rude.Tifa story from me and this is what I came up with. The title's from an Owen Pallett song. I really enjoyed writing Rude and Tifa as young kids, which is probably why this story ran away with me. This is officially the longest one-shot I've ever written. I hope that it doesn't drag but, really, Rude takes a long time to say anything.

I wrote this as a long one-shot but I think that it reads quite nicely split into two chapters. The second one should be up sometime this week.

So, this one's for Sabe. Everyone else, enjoy.

* * *

_Twice was enough  
Third would be an insult  
To my condition_

_Diamond of rough  
You see opportunity  
I see apparitions_

_Better than worse  
Is free from the curse  
And when I came to  
It all felt rehearsed_

_- Better than worse, Owen Palllett (Final Fantasy)_

Better Than Worse (pt 1)

The boy's first truly life-changing moment came when he was only eight years old. In another city, perhaps that would've seemed young but everything moved faster in Midgar. In a city where children could die before sixteen, eight was not so young.

Orphans ran like coyote packs through the city's under district. This boy didn't run, precisely, since his life hadn't exactly built him for it. He looked more like a child of thirteen than eight. His stocky build made him slow. The orphans didn't always exchange names. His name was somewhat difficult to pronounce and so they'd shortened it to 'Rude'.

He moved like a boy who was constantly afraid of breaking things. The leaders of the orphan gang used him as their enforcer. If a child stepped out of line, he was there to put them back in place. The orphans fought over territory the same way that the gangs and drug-dealers did. Empires were built and broken between a few blocks of splotchy pavement. The boy alone had changed the tide of war just by standing on the sidelines.

The orphans were petty thieves, mostly. Hungry petty thieves. One day they met an unexpected adversary, a man dressed too well for his surroundings. He seemed easy prey and so they closed in. With practiced precision, they set their trap and sprung it. The legions swept in, the boy trailing slightly behind.

It was a mighty battle. The orphans tackled him and tried to take out his legs the way that they had learnt but the stranger was crafty. His legs wouldn't buckle and the orphans soon learnt that his empty hands were weapons of their own. A cry went out and the legions retreated, scattering out into the filth and garbage of their subterranean realm.

The only one who was caught was the slowest of them. The man scruffed him like a cat and lifted him up. The boy struggled and strained but the man's knuckles were surprisingly firm.

The boy had been used to looking down at the world. He was not used to being forced to look it straight on, clear grey eyes fixed piercingly on him. It was mildly terrifying.

"Your name, boy," the man asked with a rasping tone set to frighten any child. His voice was thick with some foreign accent the boy couldn't identify. Terrible ideas of children's ghost stories raced through his head. He thought of the demons that were supposed to haunt the train yards at night looking for human blood.

The man had very white, pointed teeth set against darkly tanned skin. The boy knew that he had maybe seconds to live before those flashing, pearly canines closed on his neck. Soon, he would be dead.

Imminent death was probably the only thing that could've prompted the boy to give his full name.

"Rahul Raheem Jaffer, sir," the boy said. The man blinked at the child's voice coming from the young man's body.

"Your age, Rahul," he commanded in the same gravely tone. The boy swallowed.

"Eight," he replied.

The man considered him a moment before setting him back on the ground. When the boy didn't turn to run automatically the man made a noise low in his throat.

"Why don't you run?" he asked. The boy frowned.

"'Never been much good at runnin', sir," he said looking down at the ground in front of him. The man scoffed.

"Are you always this polite to the people you attempt to rob?" He asked. The boy had no reply and so he scuffed his shoe in the dirt.

"You have no family?" The man prompted. The boy shook his head. There was another long interval where the man considered him.

"Put your hands in a defensive position, Rahul," the man said and the boy cringed. He did so looking a little away, a bit afraid that he was about to be hit.

"Good form," the man muttered under his breath. He walked all around the boy and admonished him when he turned to follow the movement.

"Eyes forward!" the man snapped and the boy twisted around properly again.

"Strong legs," he muttered again. "Excellent build."

By the time he'd returned to face the boy head on again, he seemed to have reached some kind of a decision.

"Rahul," he said, addressing the boy directly. "Besides theft, have you ever done anything very illegal?"

The boy shook his head.

"Do you take drugs or drink alcohol?"

The boy shook his head again. The last question was longer in coming.

"Do you enjoy your life here, Rahul?"

The boy frowned. The question was difficult for him to grasp. He had vague memories of another place and another life. He knew that he'd spent more time indoors then and that he'd been warmer.

He said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I don't much like bein' cold, sir."

The man's mouth curved up into a very small smile. It made him look kindlier and for the first time the boy felt at least partially at ease with him.

"I run a sort of school for young children, Rahul," the man explained. "It is not a school in the traditional sense. I teach them the martial arts. Do you know what that means?" he asked. The boy shook his head. "It is how to fight with your hands and your feet, effectively. Perhaps to learn self-betterment as well."

The boy frowned. He had some notion of school but this did not follow it.

"...C'ld you teach me t'read?" he asked. The man gave him a strange look.

"Would like to learn?"

The boy thought for a moment.

"'Think so." He nodded to himself. "Yeah."

There was that small smile again.

"Then, Rahul, I would teach you to fight with your hands and feet, perhaps self-betterment, and to read and write. But you would be required to leave Midgar with me."

The boy looked at the rubble around him. He'd seen a map of the world once and so he was well aware that there were places outside of Midgar but the concept of leaving it was entirely foreign to him.

"Alright," he said simply. The man gave him one more deep considering look before turning. He didn't pause to see if the boy would follow and Rude, for his part, didn't hesitate before doing so.

"The other children did not call you Rahul," the man remarked as they walked. The boy wasn't fazed by this observation. The orphans always shouted to each other during their wars. Names were like war cries.

"They c'dn't say it," he replied. The man glanced over his shoulder to the boy who was walking slightly behind and to the right of him.

"Which do you prefer then? Rude or Rahul?"

The boy thought for a minute. It had been so long since he had heard someone pronounce his given name that he was unused to its sound. It was not altogether unpleasant one.

When the boy was quiet for too long, the man replied for him.

"When you know, you may correct me. Until then, it will be either Rahul or boy, depending on my mood."

The child nodded. That seemed fair enough.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude was an excellent student and learnt very quickly the shape of his sensei's 'school'. Rude was the only student who traveled with him from village to village. Zangan chose children that he considered potentially gifted and gave them lessons and forms to practice. If they managed to improve between his visits then their lessons continued. If the they lacked the heart to continue, Zangan stopped coming.

"A child with no heart for self-betterment cannot become a martial artist," Zangan would passively explain each time he ended a child's instruction.

Rude soon learnt the world's map by heart and kept in the back of his mind pictures of the places he'd been. Each town earned a small red mark beside its name if he'd ever traveled to it. Soon enough, the time he'd spent on the streets of Midgar felt as distant to him as the one other place he remembered, a place where he'd been warmer and spent more time indoors.

His sensei spoke very little which suited Rude well enough. When the man did speak it was usually to deliver some kind of lesson. Rude accepted all of his truths passively, learning in silence.

Rude soon learnt part of the reason why Zangan had chosen to take him on as his disciple. Some of the smaller villages they visited had only one or two of his students. They needed new sparring partners in order to improve themselves. Rude was large enough to prove challenging for the older students but his temperament was such that he was never overly aggressive with the younger ones. He was, in essence, the perfect match.

Objectively, Rude realized that some of the children he fought with had the potential to beat him one day. His extra size gave him an edge against them but the boy knew that that couldn't last forever. Someday someone would knock him down. That understanding was part of the reason why Rude concentrated so hard on his footwork lessons. Zangan constantly admonished him that he was too slow, that he relied too much on his strength.

"A bear is a brute," Zangan would say. "He is strong but easily brought down by a hungry pack of wolves. Better to be a badger or a wolverine than a bear, Rahul. You need strength as well as speed. Don't forget."

"Yes, sensei," Rude would always reply.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude was nine years old when he first visited one of the last villages on his mental map. Secluded and close to the mountains, they arrived in late October. It was a cold, grey place and Rude disliked it immediately.

"This town is home to one of my most promising students," Zangan explained. Rude looked at the scar line of the mountain range, half blotted out by clouds. Zangan followed his line of sight.

"The Nibel Mountains are some of the most impressive in the world. They say that Dragons live in their crevices."

"Dragons don't exist, Sensei," the boy replied. Zangan made a noise in the back of his throat.

"Perhaps not but they say that the Shinra bring legends to life in the name of science."

Rude asked his sensei to clarify what he meant but the man refused and the boy let the matter slide.

The village square was large but relatively empty. A series of homes lined it. There was, Rude could see, a huge well in the middle of the town. The homes were old and had obviously traded hands between families for generations. Rude scuffed a shoe against a cobblestone.

"Where will we meet your student, Sensei?" he asked. A year of travelling with his teacher had more or less obliterated the traces that the Slums had left on his accent. He spoke tonelessly now, much like his sensei.

"Here, Rahul," he replied. "We'll train in the outskirts of town until nightfall."

Rude nodded and they waited in silence for some time. Eventually, Rude saw a young girl leave her house accompanied by her father. When they approached, Rude realized that the man was slightly uncomfortable around his sensei. He kept on shifting his stance.

The girl stood passively beside him, her hand trapped in her father's. She was either very young or looked younger than he age, Rude realized. She was at most a little over seven. Her hair fell to her shoulders and had obviously just been brushed. Her eyes were large and wine-coloured. When they glanced up at her father they softened but the moment she caught sight of the boy beside her teacher, they cooled. All at once, Rude felt very strongly that he was an outsider to this scene and that the girl realized it.

"I don't know why you don't come up to the house, Zangan," the girl's father was saying. "The weather's been rough lately. Wouldn't you rather warm up before you start these lessons again?"

"It's fine, thank you," Rude's sensei replied, his tone neither warm nor cool. The man shifted on his feet.

"Could you have her back before dark, at least? There's been strange noises outside of town lately."

"We'll take care of your daughter, Roland," Zangan promised. At the 'we' the man shifted his line of sight and started.

"Gods I didn't even see you there, boy! One of your students?" The girl's father asked, addressing the question to Zangan. Rude's instructor nodded. Once again the man shifted on his feet. He extended his hand and after a moment Rude clasped it. "Strong grip," Roland muttered. "Roland Lockheart," he introduced himself.

"Rahul," Rude replied.

"Funny name," the girl muttered.

"Tifa," the girl's father admonished, taking his hand from Rude's.

"Roland, I'm sorry, but we're wasting daylight," Zangan said in a tone that was more of a correction than an apology.

"Of course," the man answered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Be good, Tifa," he said.

"Of course, Papa!" the girl replied. She gave her father a large, genuine smile and the man bent down to kiss the top of her hair before turning back to their home.

Zangan looked down at the girl in front of him.

"I trust that you've been practicing, Tifa," Zangan said.

"Of course!" the girl replied. Once again she tossed Rude a dark look. "Who's he?" she asked.

"My student," Zangan replied. "If you've improved enough, you'll fight with him."

"Fight?" Rude asked, surprised. The look Zangan gave him was frosty and Rude shrunk back. "Yes, Sensei," he muttered.

"Good," he replied.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Zangan led the children to a field slightly outside of town. Tifa, for her part, largely ignored Rude. She ran through her stretches and warm-ups without glancing at the boy. When she was done, she assumed a ready stance, her hands balled into fists in front of her.

"Yang Su!" Zangan snapped, calling off the name of a form. Without hesitation, Tifa flowed right into the movements ducking, weaving, kicking, punching, and dodging. Rude sat at his sensei's feet and watched the girl perform.

He could understand why his sensei had named her one of his best students. There was an artistry in her movements, a sophistication that should've been beyond a girl of her age. Each attack was perfectly placed, each block perfectly timed. On the whole, the form would've been flawless except...

"There's no power," Rude said quietly under his breath. His sensei looked down at him before turning his eyes back to the girl in front of him.

Rude felt an uncomfortable lump in his stomach. His sensei had never asked him to fight with one of the girl students before. He understood why now. With the other boys, Rude had been on equal footing. They understood strength and were intimidated by it. This young girl lived _outside_ of it. Rude hadn't exactly been assisting the other children in their training, he now knew. They'd been preparing him for _her_.

There was one fatal flaw in the equation, however.

"Enough!" Zangan snapped and Tifa moved back to a ready position. Zangan glanced at the boy by his side.

"You understand?" he asked. Rude slowly got to his feet.

"Yes, Sensei," he replied.

Rude walked forward slowly. Sweat dotted the girl's forehead and she was breathing slightly faster than normal. Her eyes followed him and once again Rude felt very strongly like an intruder, an outsider to the scene.

"Fighting stances!" Zangan called and they both dropped into one. There was a pause - half a heartbeat - before their instructor snapped, "Begin!"

Tifa lunged forward first with a hard left jab. Rude half-stepped back, deflecting the blow. Stepping sideways, Tifa aimed a roundhouse kick to the boy's ribs and again he deflected it. He dodged her spinning kick and the lightning fast axe kick she followed it with.

They danced for a short while and Rude felt his sensei's disapproval settle on him like a weight. Tifa was on a constant offensive, jabbing, kicking, once even trying a knee in close-quarters. Rude always stepped back, evaded, or deflected her blows.

With a sharp growl of frustration Tifa dropped to her hands and knees. Rude's eyes widened but he was too slow to react. The sweep caught his ankle and in a flash he fell. Tifa was on her feet again in a moment and her heel swung down...

"Enough!" Zangan snapped. Inches away from its intended target, Tifa's heel swept away and once again she was standing in a ready position. Rude let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding and touched his neck lightly. If that kick had connected...

"On your feet, boy!" Zangan snapped. Slowly, Rude stood up. His back was on fire and his head was swimming.

"Face each other," Zangan commanded. The children did so. "Bow," he commanded again. Tifa dipped her head slightly, her burgundy eyes never leaving Rude's face. Rude kept his eyes on the dirt. As one, they turned to face their sensei.

"Tifa," Zangan's voice snapped. "Never, I repeat never, strike a man in combat if he loses his footing."

"He wasn't fighting me, Sensei," the girl replied.

"And so he deserves to have his windpipe crushed?" he admonished. The girl looked at the ground in front of her. "500 push-ups," Zangan pronounced. Then, he turned his eyes to Rude. "Boy," he said. There was a pause. "I expected better of you."

With that, he turned his back on the two children. Rude glanced at Tifa beside him before setting off to follow their sensei. Tifa rolled her eyes and lowered herself down to the ground to follow through with her punishment.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

They spent five days in Nibleheim. Each day, Zangan met with the two children three times and each day forced them to fight each other. Not once did Rude make any kind of offensive move towards his opponent and each class ended much the way the first class had.

During the third day, Rude found himself sitting in the town square. He was watching Tifa and a few of the other children playing some kind of a game. He didn't understand the purpose but it seemed to involve two balls and some makeshift goals. He could see from a distance how Tifa's moods dictated the flow of the game. She laughed heartedly and was constantly teasing her playmates enough to make the boys flustered and distracted. Naturally, her side was winning.

Another boy slinked down beside him.

"It's a stupid game," he muttered. Rude twisted to see his companion. The boy had messy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. He looked a little undersized for his age.

Rude realized that he was probably supposed to say something in reply.

"They look like they're having fun," he said simply. The boy gave him a sharp look.

"You've been fighting with Tifa," he stated. Rude nodded. "You're losing a lot," the boy said smugly. Rude nodded again.

"Shouldn't you be playing with them?" he asked. It seemed like a fair question. The boy bristled and stood.

"If you hit her, you'll get it for sure."

The boy waited for Rude to say something in response but he didn't. Without another word, the blonde boy stalked off, giving the playing children a wide berth.

"Don't worry," Rude said to himself. "I won't hit her."

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude's fourth day in Nibleheim was spent much like his first three. The only thing that kept Tifa from storming off of the training grounds was Zangan's powerful presence. He'd stopped reprimanding Rude verbally after the first match. Instead, he chose the form of punishment most martial arts instructors were fond of: repetitive training exercises. Rude had never felt more exhausted in his entire life.

The night of the fourth day, Rude was sitting on a crate of potatoes left carelessly outside of the town's inn. Sometimes, Rude still marvelled at how at ease people in the country could be. He understood that the people here were poor by most standards but there was a difference between being poor and living in poverty, he believed. In Midgar, anything not welded to the ground was fair game. A crate of potatoes like this could've fed a whole gang of orphans for a week.

He swung his legs aimlessly, looking up at the sky. He didn't mind the ache in his muscles. In truth, he preferred the physical pain to the strange hurt he'd felt when his sensei had spoken down to him. Rude knew that he'd do a lot to keep his instructor from being disappointed in him again.

Except...

"Are you allowed to be out here?" a voice asked from the dark. Rude turned to face it and frowned when a form resolved itself. Tifa was standing a little away from him by another building. She had her arms crossed and once again managed to make Rude feel like an outsider.

To distract himself from her, Rude looked up at the stars. Tifa's eyes didn't follow suit.

"Sensei doesn't mind," Rude replied. He looked down at the girl a few steps away from him. "Are you?"

Tifa made a face and took a few brave steps forward.

"This is my town," she said. "Papa doesn't know if I go walking at night."

Rude nodded and leaned back on his crate, swinging his feet in silence. Tifa gave him a strange look.

"How come you don't want to fight me? I'm littler than you. It can't be hard."

Rude hid a smirk. Sensei would've corrected his grammar if he'd said a sentence like that. Rude thought for a moment.

"It doesn't matter," he replied eventually. Tifa stomped her foot.

"Don't ignore me!" she shouted. Rude eyed her in silence for a while. She was the picture perfect image of childhood anger. He'd never met anyone quite like her before.

"'S nothin' t'do with you," Rude said eventually, surprised at how a long-forgotten accent crept back onto his tongue. Tifa wrinkled her nose at the words and Rude swallowed something thick in his throat. She was so removed from most of the things that he'd known that he ...

Well, he wasn't really that surprised when he found himself telling her the story.

"Y'aint from Midgar," he said, stating a fact. "I wasn't neither. My mom, she was Midleese. My dad, ah, who the fuck knows."

Tifa wrinkled her nose.

"You shouldn't swear," she corrected. Rude looked at her for a moment.

"Sorry," he replied. After a silence, he continued the story.

"There wasn't never work in Mideel so my mom, she took off. Me with her, 'course. We moved t' Midgar. She was a cleanin' lady up in a house on the Plate."

Rude paused and thought.

"I might've been ... dunno, six maybe. I helped Cook in the kitchen. 'House's owner was some big shot Shinra. My mom, she must've done somethin' wrong. Every once in a while, she'd do somethin' wrong. She'd forget things, sometimes, my mom. 'Nyways, one day, the big shot Shinra guy, he started shoutin' at her. I poked by head outta the kitchen. 'Rahul, go away' she said but I d'dn't. Shinra, he shouted at her ag'n 'n hit her hard on the side of the head. She fell back 'n hit her head on some table's corner. She d'dn't get back up ag'n and Cook started shoutin' 'she's dead!' 'she's dead!' so I took outta there 'n neva went back."

Rude paused again. He'd looked away from Tifa when he was speaking, watching the ground in front of them. He glanced up at her again and saw her standing there with her arms crossed, an angry frown on her face. He cringed and finished his story quickly.

"That's why I don't hit girls," he said simply. He swallowed hard, unaccustomed to having to speak so much. He wanted to shake off all the harsh consonants he'd remembered.

Tifa was quiet for a while and then shook her head.

"That's stupid," she replied. Rude's eyes widened at her brashness. Tifa made at face at his expression. "My papa would say that thing with your mom was bad luck. Sensei wants you to fight me so that I can learn. You can't help me if you don't do that. Besides, I'm not your mom. I'm not going to fall down and hit my head on some stupid table. Sensei says I'm twice as good as most of his boy students. Besides, you can't go through life not hitting people. Well, there's good reasons not to hit people but if you have to then I think it's okay. Like say there was a lady robber in your house, you'd have to hit her, right?"

Rude gave her a confused look.

"Girls aren't robbers," he replied. Tifa stomped her foot.

"I said if! If! Besides, you can't like it when I hit you."

"You don't hit me very often," Rude replied. Tifa made another frustrated noise.

"You're just being stupid!" she repeated. She was quiet for a bit and Rude knew that she was hunting for some kind of childish counter-argument. He waited. Eventually, she spoke and he noticed that there was a lot less anger in her words.

"My mom," she said quietly, "she died last year. She was sick. Papa was sad for a long time. I was too. But... I don't think that I'd want to be afraid of getting sick forever because she was sick. I don't think that your mom would want you to be afraid too."

There was a pause before Tifa continued.

"I think," Tifa said, "that if Sensei says it's okay for you to fight girls, then it must be alright. He'd know, wouldn't he? He's our sensei."

Rude thought for a minute and Tifa laughed at his expression. He looked up at her, full of mature wounded pride, and she laughed again.

"You look funny when you're thinking," she explained. Her grin turned a little coquettish. "You and Sensei are leaving tomorrow. We just have a few more matches. If you leave, I'll tell everyone that you were beaten up by a girl and the boys will laugh at you."

Tifa turned to leave and then looked over her shoulder again. She grinned.

"And, if I knock you down again, I won't stop even if Sensei tells me to. You'd better fight back."

With that, Tifa ran off in the direction of her home. Rude couldn't help but grin a little as he watched her go. When she disappeared into her home, he looked up at the stars over top of him again. They were clearer here, he realized, probably because the mountain air was so clean and cool. Eventually, he shook his head.

"Girls are weird," he concluded. He headed back inside the inn, still unsure what he was going to do the next morning.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude's fifth day in Nibleheim was cold. The air was clear and the sun was crisp but there was a fierce wind. Zangan seemed untroubled by the cold but Rude shivered in it.

"Pay special mind to your warm-ups today, children," was all he said about the weather. Rude followed the instructions and took extra care with his stretches. He cast wary glances in Tifa's direction. Once again, the girl was ignoring him. She seemed almost jubilant in the fierce mountain wind, completely in her element. When their sensei called them together, she could hardly keep still long enough to bow.

"Begin!" Zangan snapped and Tifa launched at her opponent. Rude was immediately on the defensive. Tifa didn't give him any reprieve. Kick followed kick and when she managed to close the distance between them she attacked with a flurry of punches that Rude barely deflected. Twice she forced him out of the ring their Sensei had drawn up outside for them. Each time, Zangan forced the two children to stop their fight and brought them back to the ring's centre only to start the match again.

Rude lost track of time. His shirt was drenched in sweat but he was too warm to feel its chill. Tifa was still grinning fiercely at him. There was sweat on her forehead and in her hair but she obviously felt it even less than Rude did. She tried to sweep him three times the way she had in their first match and each time he managed to avoid the attack, if barely.

A quiet voice inside of Rude's head was telling him that she was over-confident in her attacks and that they lacked the power to really inflict damage on him. Tifa wasn't a street fighter. She didn't see how her balance was precarious when she threw her perfectly timed axe kicks or her spinning kicks. She was fast but if the attack alone wasn't enough to down her opponent...

_You could knock her down_, the quiet voice promised. Rude shook it off.

Time slowed down for Rude as he ducked and weaved avoiding Tifa's attacks. There was a clear pattern to them. Her most effective attacks were aimed at his knees or shins. When he gave ground to those, her confidence grew. Then he would witness those perfectly timed kicks. Oh, she was quick but she'd grown used to him acting on the defensive. If he only...

Tifa flung her right foot up in an axe kick. It sailed over her head and her heel came flying down. Rude felt it move in slow motion. With complete disregard to his own safety, he stepped into the kick. Instead of Tifa's heel landing on his collarbone, it missed its target and her calf muscle brushed harmlessly against his shoulder.

Tifa's eyes widened and Rude's left fist connected to her rib cage. Tifa let out a short cry and fell back, her balance gone. She collapsed on the ground and curled around her rib cage, coughing around the pain. Rude watched her in a daze before taking a half step forward to help her to her feet.

"Stop!" Zangan cried and instinctively Rude fell back into a ready stance. It took a moment for Tifa to get back to her feet and do the same. Zangan walked up to them and looked at each of them in turn.

"Face me," he instructed and the children did so. "Bow," he said and they complied. "Face each other, bow."

"Tifa," Zangan said, and the girl faced him at her name. She was still red in the face but her breathing was already slower. "Most fighters are not martial artists. Cowards will give you distance but true opponents will not. If your attacks are not powerful enough they will knock you down. In the real world, your matches will not end after the first blow."

Then Zangan turned to the boy beside her.

"Rahul," he said and for a moment he paused. "Every opponent is dangerous. You need never be cruel but you have to understand that kindness is not always awarded. If someone is willing to stand and fight you, treat them with respect but understand that they would not hesitate to knock you down."

"Yes, Sensei," Rude replied. Zangan nodded.

"Now, fighting stances!"

The children dropped back and raised their fists again.

"Begin!"

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

That night, Zangan and Rude left Nibleheim. Rude was moving carefully and deliberately, his ribs aching with a few of Tifa's well-timed blows. She'd limped away from the practice yard that evening but not before she'd flashed him a winning smile.

_Next time I'll be even stronger_, she'd promised.

Rude cast a glance back at the town as they left it.

"Sensei," Rude asked and Zangan looked over at the boy beside him. Rude was a long time before speaking but Zangan never urged him on. He was used to Rude's lapses.

"Sensei," the boy started again. "Could you please call me Rude from now on?"

Zangan frowned. He still remembered the conversation that they'd never finished the first day they'd met.

"Is that what you wish, Rahul?" he asked. Rude nodded and Zangan gave a slow nod in return. "Very well then. You'll be Rude or boy, depending on my mood."

"Yes, Sensei."

They continued their journey in silence. It left Rude ample time to consider a young girl with burgundy eyes and to wonder when he'd be able to return to a sleepy town at the base of the Nibel mountains again.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: I have to same that I really enjoyed writing this story. Rude's such a delicious muse. Very solid. I like the change of pace in this chapter as well. It's bit of a product of the fact that I wrote this as one long one-shot but I prefer it broken up in the middle. 26 pages is rather long when you try to read it all at once.

To the best of my ability, I've kept this in canon with OGC, LO, and FFac. Unfortunately, the dates simply _can't_ _work_ for FFbc. If you follow the FFbc timeline, Rude and Reno either joined the Turks at a very young age or are a great deal older than Tifa & Co. Either way, it rather trumps my 'what if Tifa and Rude knew each other as children' story.

But Sabe's much more of an OGC girl anyway. And this is, after all, _her_ story.

Once again, this one's for Sabe. Everyone else, enjoy.

* * *

Better Than Worse (pt 2)

Rude was twelve years old before he returned to Midgar with his sensei. When they did, they went to the prosperous Plate district to visit one of his older students.

"I've managed to train very few children from the Slums," Zangan explained. "Violence is too close to their daily lives. They make poor martial artists. The children from the Plate are at least further removed from it."

Rude nodded and accepted the statement. It seemed true enough to him.

When they reached the boy that they were supposed to train with's home, they were met by a pair of angry adults.

"I was wondering when you'd come sneaking back here," the boy's father said to Zangan. Rude's instructor didn't react to the man's rudeness but the boy bristled at it. The man's wife interceded.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Zangan. My husband's quite upset."

"Myra, you don't need to be so polite to this -"

"What has happened?" Zangan asked, his tone implying that he probably already knew.

"Our son has left to join SOLDIER," the woman said. "He made an excellent candidate, you see, because -"

"Ah, I see. I do apologize," Zangan replied.

"Apologize?" the man hissed. "We tried to dissuade him but he kept on quoting you. He kept on saying that he wanted to protect people. My son was brilliant. He could've been a lawyer or a Shinra manager. Now, he's off in Junon and Gods only know when we'll see him again. He's going to join the damn army and it's all because we were foolish enough to -"

"Leonard, really," Myra corrected. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Zangan, but you can understand how we're upset. My husband and I worked very hard to earn a living here. We were hoping that he'd choose to go to university. Now..."

"They have to fight fucking monsters in the army," the man muttered. "Our son could end up in a body bag and it's all because he got it in his head that he's a half-decent fighter. They gobbled him right up. He plans on making SOLDIER first class. I've got half a mind that you're some kind of army recruiter-"

Zangan held up a hand.

"I'm very sorry," he repeated. "I assure you that I have no ties with the Shinra. However, what my students choose to do with their skills is not my responsibility."

"Not your responsibility. How dare -"

"Leonard," the man's wife cut him off. "Why don't you go inside for a minute? I'll finish talking to Mr. Zangan outside."

The man looked at his wife and then cast a dirty look at Rude's instructor before heading inside.

"I'm sorry about that," the man's wife said. "My husband was born in old Junon, you see. He's never had much love for Shinra. He works for one of the last independent newspapers in Midgar. I think that he's a bit afraid that our son joined Shinra to win some kind of leverage for us ... who knows, really. This city has turned so backwards."

"I do sympathize, Mrs. Jones."

The woman wrung her hands.

"I, I understand really. At least, I think I do. I guess... that I'm thankful he had your instruction. Maybe it will keep him safe. He's so young though. They'll take them at sixteen or less now. Our neighbour's son was barely fifteen. They prefer the younger candidates because they're easier to train. I'm a nurse in the Shinra Health Network, you see. The SOLDIERs, half the time they're just boys."

The woman looked away.

"He always spoke highly of you," she finished quietly. "I've gotten used to you coming around for him. I suppose that everything changes."

Zangan extended his hand to the woman.

"Jeremiah was a good student. I'm sure that he'll be fine."

The woman looked up at the hand between them. Hesitantly, she reached out and took it.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Jones," Zangan said.

"Good-bye," she replied.

Without another word, Zangan turned to leave. Rude followed him away but glanced back at the woman on her doorstep. It was a moment longer before she stepped inside her home again.

"The students from Midgar often leave to join SOLDIER," Zangan said quietly as they walked. "It is not my place to dissuade them. They see it as a practical use for their skills."

"Does it disappoint you, Sensei?" Rude asked. Zangan looked down at him.

"An odd question, Rude," he replied. "What they make of their lives is their choice. I would be a vain man to feel entitlement like that."

There was a long pause before he added,

"Protection of an innocent; protection of a fellow SOLDIER. Perhaps it is much the same."

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude traveled with Zangan for a few more years. Secretly, he always looked forward to the visits they made to Nibleheim. Rude enjoyed seeing Tifa grow stronger between each of their visits They were almost evenly matched now. He was still stronger than her but she was faster. Her blows were becoming more and more powerful. More than once, Zangan had had to stop their fights because of fractured ribs on either side.

Every time they left, Tifa flashed Rude one of those brilliant, fierce smiles. He always felt himself answer her in turn.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

By fifteen, Rude was growing restless. He'd spent most of his life travelling in his sensei's company. He'd visited most of the villages that dotted the world but knew that there was a great more to life than what he'd been able to see of it. Still, it was a dilemma. He'd never worked and had no family. He had no place in the world except at Zangan's side.

By sixteen, he knew what he had to do. He waited until they travelled to Nibleheim again. Perhaps it was strange but he wanted to say good-bye.

They met at night. Rude waited for Tifa standing at the base of the town's well. After all, there were very few landmarks in the small village.

The night was cool but not unpleasant. The stars were there, like they always were. Rude had only seen their like the few times that he and his sensei had travelled to Icicle village but there they were blotted out by the snow clouds most of the time.

"I'm going to leave Sensei to join SOLDIER," Rude explained gravely when the girl appeared. Tifa always wore her hair down and Rude had grown accustomed to seeing it stir in the wind. Tifa sighed and leaned against one of the well's pillars.

"Lots of the boys here are leaving to join SOLDIER. I didn't think you would though."

"Really?" Rude asked. Tifa nodded.

"Well, you get to travel with Sensei. I always thought that I'd never want to leave if I could travel with him."

Rude thought for a moment.

"I can't stay forever though," he said eventually. "I could be good in SOLDIER."

"Maybe," Tifa replied. She hesitated. "Do you think that you'll still be able to visit if you're in SOLDIER?"

Rude also hesitated. He didn't want to lie.

"I'm not sure. But if I can, I'll try."

Tifa smiled a little at him. She held out her hand.

"Well, um, good-bye then."

Rude smirked a bit.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Tifa."

"But we won't get to shake hands then. So, let's do that now. That's right, isn't it?"

Rude thought for a minute.

"I suppose it is."

He shook her hand. It was cold from the mountain air but her grip was strong.

"Good-bye, Tifa."

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude told Zangan what he'd decided two days after they left Nibleheim.

"You'd seemed like you'd reached some kind of a decision," Zangan said, nodding.

"I won't disappoint you, Sensei," Rude said, surprising both of them by his words. Zangan laughed. It was a rare sound.

"You could never disappoint me, Rahul," he said, using a name that Rude had given up ages ago. "Remember your training and perhaps I'll even become proud of you."

"I will, Sensei," Rude promised.

They parted in Junon.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude liked the army well enough. Every SOLDIER had to learn the basics of using a firearm and broadsword but they were also permitted to train with their preferred weapons. Very few recruits could match him in unarmed combat and only fully trained SOLDIERs were strong enough to beat him.

Rude lived in a fairly unremarkable way. He made friends of a sort but many of the recruits couldn't cope with his quiet nature. He spent most of his off time alone but that suited him well enough. He wasn't used to long conversation in any case.

Rude entered his first army unit at sixteen. By seventeen he was promoted to 3rd class SOLDIER. For three weeks afterwards, he couldn't quite grapple with the face he saw in his mirror with its unnatural eyes looking back at him.

"Here," a SOLDIER said, tossing him a pair of sunglasses. "You'll freak out less if you can't see them."

Rude wasn't sure if the other man was right or not but the SOLDIER was a first class and Rude's superior. The boy couldn't have argued with him even if he'd wanted to.

It took Rude six months to be promoted to second-class and three months to make it to first. He knew that the promotions were coming unnaturally fast but the army didn't allow for idle speculation.

One night, Rude was woken up by his barrack's leader in the middle of the night.

"Full uniform, Rude. You have two minutes."

Rude was ready in one.

He followed his superior down to one of the barrack's briefing room. The barrack's head opened the door for him but didn't followed him in.

Inside the room there was a rectangular table that could sit eight people. The walls were bare and there were no windows. Rude stood at attention. His division commander sat at the table's corner closest to him. Two men his didn't recognize were at the other end. They didn't look like army officials.

"Rude Jaffer?" the commander asked. That was the name that Rude had given when he'd enlisted. "SOLDIER, first class, ID number 4167230?"

"Yes, sir."

The commander turned to the two men sitting at the opposite end of the room. Rude knew better than to turn and look at them without permission.

"That's fine, Colonel. You can leave us now," said the first man, his voice soft and smooth with the faintest trace of an accent. He was Wutaian, Rude realized.

The colonel nodded and left the room. Rude still stood at attention.

"Fucking stickler for decorum ain't he, Se?" the other man asked.

"SOLDIER habits," the wutaian man said dismissively. "You may sit," he said, addressing Rude directly. Rude did so and got his first look at the two men sitting across from him. The first was Wutaian and fairly nondescript with his black hair pulled back in a short ponytail. The man sitting beside him was obviously younger and the more junior of the two. He had incredibly red hair and two matching scars or tattoos on his cheekbones. From the distance, it was hard for Rude to tell. They both had a telltale glow in their eyes. If they weren't from the army, Rude had a pretty strong feeling that he knew who these people were.

"Your file is impressive, SOLDIER," the wutaian man said. "It's been many years since we've seen someone move up the ranks so quickly."

Rude didn't reply to the compliment and the redhead snorted.

"Se doesn't usually give compliments, yo. You might wanna say thanks."

"Reno," the wutaian man corrected. He looked at the file again and then glanced up at Rude sitting across from him.

"I'm sure you can guess why we're here, Rahul," the man said simply. Rude started at the use of his proper name. Reno smirked but the other man didn't react. He leafed through the file in front of him. "Rahul Raheem Jaffer, son of Mihala Jaffer, formerly Mihala Haseem who died in an altercation in the Midgar plate district some eleven years ago. Charges were never filed and an arrest was never made. You were formerly a student of Zangan Telavere, a former Shinra private instructor turned civilian. You enlisted at the Junon SOLDIER recruitment barracks two years ago under a pseudonym. You have no previous criminal record but presented only the minimal number of personal identification papers. They were obvious forgeries."

The wutaian man looked up.

"My name is Tseng and this is my subordinate, Reno. We're with the Shinra Department of Administrative Research."

"Fancy a change'a scenery there, Rude?" the redhead asked.

Rude was quiet for a moment before replying.

"... From what I've heard about Turk recruitment, we don't usually get a chance to decline."

Reno laughed but the wutaian man didn't react. Inside, he slid a piece of paper and a pen forward.

"No, SOLDIER, you don't. Sign on the dotted line, please."

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Working as a Turk wasn't much different than working in the army, Rude sometimes thought. They were just as responsible to their superiors. Tseng handled their day-to-day operations, sometimes referring back to their division Commander or Heidegger, their division Head, for clarification. Most of their work forced them to operate in Midgar. Rude was a quick study. He'd learnt most of the basics in SOLDIER but tactics, specials ops, and ballistics were all new to him.

Rude was starting to forget why he'd ever joined the army. The constant missions, the late nights and the early mornings, were helping him forget that he'd ever been some boy named Rahul. Reno was the only one who reminded him of that name, using it to tease him every now and then. Rude liked his colleagues. Protecting an innocent or protecting a Turk; it was much the same, wasn't it?

Rude was a little over nineteen when they got the call. He'd been sitting with three other Turks and Reno when it came in. Since Tseng was away on a mission, Reno was acting as their unit commander and the orders were sent to his PHS.

"Nibleheim? Where the fuck is Nibleheim?"

"Junon continent, south of the Nibel Mountains, a few days south-east of Rocket Town," Rude said without looking up from the newspaper he was reading. He almost always wore his sunglasses now, indoors or otherwise. He shaved his head now too. They had an image to keep up or something like that.

"Right, right. We'll take the chopper. The whole unit? Holy Shiva Se you can't - right, yeah, I got it. Reno out."

Everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at Reno.

"Suit up everyone. There's been some kind of fucking disaster at some piss-ass town called Niblehim. Looks like Sephiroth was involved. The General's MIA. It's not looking too good. We've got a standard box and shuffle op."

Everyone stood but Rude was the only one who spoke.

"Are there survivors?" he asked. The three other Turks looked at him.

"How the fuck should I know, Rude?" Reno replied. "The Science Department's already crawling all over the fucking place. We've got to move now."

Within ten minutes, their chopper was in the air.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The Turks received their orders in transit. Tseng was apparently up in the mountains with half the unit already. Rude's team had to land outside the village because of turbulence. The wind was against them and so the smell of wood ash was strong in the air. Rude squinted to make out what was left of the village, the smoke obscuring most of the Nibel Mountains. For an instant, he was eight years old and his sensei was telling him how Shinra was rumoured to manufacture monsters...

One of the youngest recruits swore behind him.

"Fucking Hells, what a gods-damn mess. Smells like -"

"Cut the fucking chatter, Rookie," Reno hissed. He flipped opened his PHS again.

"Beta team here," he said. "We're on the outskirts. Estimate 20 minutes until arrival on-site. Reno out."

He turned to the team.

"Let's move."

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The town was crawling with men and women wearing medical lab coats. Rude felt vaguely uncomfortable. These people were with the Science Department, not the Shinra Health Network. He didn't want to know the details.

Nervously, he scanned the blackened town square. That had been her house. Where ...

"What a fucking mess," one of his colleagues said behind him. Rude nodded.

"There's a buggy stationed by the mansion," Reno said as they walked through the town. "We're supposed to assist in securing the Reactor. The Science Department will take care of the town."

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Rude had never been to the Nibel Reactor before. The air was hazy with the acrid smell of mako. Underneath it was the faint metallic scent of blood and rust. There were some splotches of red outside the Reactor's entrance but the bodies had already been removed.

Inside, Rude saw Tseng speaking to Hojo who was standing by an army recruit lying on a stretcher. The boy was bleeding but even from a distance Rude could tell that he was still alive. When a few Science Department staffers carried the boy out, Rude turned to see him go.

It was the blond boy with angry eyes. He'd never learnt his name.

"Well, let's get to work," Reno said.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Weeks later, Rude read the portions of the Nibleheim report that he had access to. Whole sections of it had been blacked out. He pieced together what he could. He found a list of survivors at the end. There were no photographs or names, just brief descriptions followed by a department ID number.

Rude tried not to imagine why the Science Department had assigned the survivors ID numbers.

There wasn't any reference to a sixteen year-old brown haired female. Tifa had either died in the fire or had escaped it. Rude had no way to know which was true.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Close to five years went by. The Turks were almost always needed. There were rumours of Shinra resistance groups sprouting up in different cities. Most were crushed before they managed to accomplish anything.

There was one notable exception, however.

He saw her footage from the surveillance tapes. She looked older and angrier than when he'd known her. He recognized the blue-eyed boy from back then as well. It was the boy that made him return to the Nibleheim file.

It was just a brief reference, half-blacked out in Appendix A. There'd been another mission a few months back, a hunt for a renegade SOLDIER and an army recruit. Rude hadn't seen them up close then since he'd been up in one of their choppers during the pursuit. Though, the way the dates lined up ...

Rude wasn't at all surprised when their new orders came down.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

A few weeks later, Shinra Tower experienced its first break-in in its entire history. Naturally, the Turks were dispatched.

When she saw him, she barely stopped herself from launching forward. It was only the ex-SOLDIER's restrictive gesture that kept her in place.

"Could you press 'up', please?" Rude asked. Tseng was cold beside him.

"It must have been a real thrill for you. Did you enjoy it?" he said.

Tifa didn't acknowledge Rude again after that.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

If it hadn't have been for Sephiroth, they wouldn't have escaped. The death of a President came too high on their list of priorities to deal with a few wayward terrorists.

When they met again in the Mythrill mines, she treated him like a stranger. When they fought in Gongaga village, she went right for his throat. The irony wasn't lost on him.

_Who do you like?_, Reno had asked a few minutes earlier. Rude had answered with the first thing that came to his mind as was his habit when he was talking with Reno.

No wonder Tifa was so angry.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Shinra had lost its sense of itself. Tseng had nearly died in the Temple of the Ancients, forcing Reno to act as their unit head. Elena, their rookie, was coping with more than any of them had ever had to. Their unit was too small, their mission too large.

Still, they were Turks. What else did they have to do?

Comrade or innocent, Rude still wasn't sure if it made a difference.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

When they let AVALANCHE go in the Midgar sewers, Tifa glanced back at him. He almost he said something. Instead, he shook his head slightly.

It wasn't forgiveness, exactly, the look she gave him but the small smile at her lips reminded him of cool mountain air. That alone was probably enough.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The world didn't end but Shinra didn't die. The next time he saw her was years later. Then, her eyes were full of worry for other people.

Like always, she looked to him first but Reno did most of the talking.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Another crisis gone and the world still hadn't ended. Rude sometimes appreciated how tenacious AVALANCHE could be. He was glad that the responsibility wasn't on his shoulders. He probably wasn't strong enough for it.

She surprised him in Edge's market. He'd been leaning against a wall and she'd snuck up behind him. It was rare that people actually managed that.

Rude was leaning at the wall's edge and so Tifa rested against the other side. They were ninety degrees to each other.

"How long are you going to have to stay with Shinra?" she asked. Rude made a sound low in his throat.

"I'm not sure," he replied honestly. He knew that his contract was more or less irrelevant now but Tseng, Reno, and Elena were still there.

"I think that you stay mostly for the others," Tifa said, thinking out loud. She was right but Rude didn't feel the need to say it. She turned her face a little towards him.

"You know, I hated you for a very long time," she said simply. "I thought that you'd betrayed everything Sensei had taught you. I didn't know how you could stand it."

Rude nodded and crossed his arms.

"Now?" he asked.

Tifa let out a low laugh and shifted against the wall, her face looking up at Edge's bright afternoon sky.

"Now, I find it pretty hard to hate anyone," she said simply. She turned her face back towards him. Rude smirked and uncrossed his arms. He didn't know what to say to that. Tifa laughed.

"Still so quiet. I used to like that about you. I'm glad that you haven't changed too much."

Rude smiled.

"Likewise."

A set of fingers curled around his left hand as it lay against the wall.

"Whenever you're ready, there's always going to be a place for you here."

Rude's smile was very small and soft.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, we're friends, aren't we?" Tifa asked. Rude's chuckle was a rumble deep in his chest.

"We couldn't be anything else, Tifa," he replied. He didn't need to turn to face her to feel her smile. Her fingers patted his and just like that she was gone again.

Rude pushed himself off the wall and walked away in the opposite direction. They had a chopper waiting for them to take them to their next mission.

Still, he stalled and looked behind him. He caught one last glance of Tifa's brown hair before she disappeared in Edge's midday market crowd. The scene pleased him somehow and Rude smiled a bit before turning around and continuing on his way.

Somehow, he didn't feel like it would be too long before he'd be back again.

* * *


End file.
